Newly Enamored Wizarding Teens NEWTs
by Liz Beth Rae
Summary: After the Battle of Hogwarts, Hermione and Ron face a lonely year apart as she studies for her N.E.W.T.s and he helps with his brother's joke shop.
1. Fireflies

Chapter One: Fireflies

The summer after the Battle at Hogwarts arrived in angry retribution of all the revelry. The sweltering heat cast a glowing haze across the parched lawn of the Burrow. The temperatures were unbearable within the stifling walls of the house, so the Weasleys and their guests passed the time outdoors, huddled in the shade of a tree or cooling off with a breezy game of Quidditch. Hermione, however, had taken to walking alone along the garden's edge, amused by the gnomes scurrying between the shady, overgrown plants. She had many thoughts to sort out...

For more than a week after the Battle of Hogwarts, her greatest emotion was undiluted, all-consuming elation. She had never desired anything more in her life than victory over Voldemort with her, Ron, and Harry all coming out alive. Her life felt open and free, her future as bright as the glaring sun beyond the Burrow. It was as if she'd never fully realized the extent of the pain and suffering his regime had caused because she had not known the happiness that accompanied his defeat. Now that he was vanquished, however, it was as if the world had opened up again. Happiness flooded into her every pore from the simplest of things, while every minor drawback suddenly became much more manageable.

Yet there were the things she had not factored into her biggest dream. She had not anticipated the deaths of Lupin or Tonks, especially so soon after the birth of their son. It had not crossed her mind that Fred would lose his life, and it had certainly not occurred to her the extent to which Ron would feel this loss. It was all clear now, of course--painfully clear. The Weasley home was oddly hollow without the energy the twins generated when together. The walls were suffocating under the depressing cloud of grief, even without the heat. Their happiness was muted by these unnecessary casualties, as if the sense of joy could not penetrate the thick, humid air.

Hermione was grateful, though, that Ron had not qithdrawn from her in his grief. They had not yet found a good moment to finish what they'd started back in the pile of dropped Basilisk fangs, but she would wait. She'd waited for years for the right moment, so what would a few weeks matter? In the meantime, it was just as exciting when he held her hand under the dinner table, just as exhilarating when they'd walk arm-in-arm across the moonlit lawn, as thrilling to embrace him tightly and breathe in the smell of his hair as it was to kiss him.

Despite the newfound contentment in their relationship, Hermione ached with longing for her parents. The betrayal she committed and the guilt derived from it still dug at her soul. She wanted to know they were still alive and well, but more than that she wanted to lift the memory charms so they were even aware of her existence. She wanted to hug her father and kiss her mother and let loose in the freedoms of not having to care, of having people there to do all the caring for her. But where to begin? She could not safely use any magical means of transportation in such an unfamiliar location. Her savings was diminished, and certainly not enough to pay for the plane ride and lodgings needed to get to Australia.

So here she was, standing beside a garden infested with gnomes, in such sweltering heat that even Crookshanks was not exerting himself with a hunt. All these conflicting emotions left her in an incredibly uncomfortable state of mind. Her thick hair had doubled in size with the humidity and was drawn up and harnessed off her shoulders, though the stray curl or five teased the corners of her eyes. She tried to restrain one of them when the sound of footsteps forced her to abandon her attempt.

Ron and Harry were approaching, their gaits jerky as they lazily steadied their way down the sloping lawn.

"Oh good, Mum already told you," said Ron when they arrived.

"Told me what?" Hermione responded promptly.

"We're degnoming the garden," he and Harry replied together as they crossed into the dense greenery.

Hermione felt an uncharacteristic twinge of dislike for Mrs. Weasley but quickly ignored it, blaming her shorted patience on the heat. She followed the others into the vegetable patch and began to work, listening only halfheartedly as the other two discussed various aspects of Quidditch. She snatched a gnome from beneath a creeping vine of squash, spun it, and chucked it in hopes to quell her frustration.

Ron and Harry turned to her in shock.

"Hermione," Ron said. "I thought you didn't approve of throwing them that hard?"

She'd almost forgotten. Any other time they'd tried degnoming the garden with her, she would give the pest a little swing and just sort of toss it over the hedge. She'd incurred many bites that way, and therefore did not usually participate.

"I just...Well, it doesn't hurt them, right? They just get dizzy."

Ron looked at her suspiciously, a gnome held by the ankle in his hand. Sensing an escape, the creature bit him sharply, leading to its immediate release. the three continued working as Ron cursed. It was both easier and harder to degnome in the heat. Easier, because the gnomes were sluggish and less likely to put up a fight--harder because the heat was exhausting.

The three of them sat sipping chilled pumpkin juice in the shade of the hedge was the hotter noon hours approached.

"Andromeda is visiting later today," Harry said, his voice somewhat hollow. "She's bringing Teddy."

Hermione looked at him thoughtfully; Ron only let out a small sound of acknowledgement as he was in the process of falling asleep.

"Harry," Hermione breathed. "You're going to be a wonderful godfather. You don't have to be nervous about holding a baby. You were fine at the funeral..."

"It's not Teddy, Hermione," he said back, staring blankly off into the distance. "It's Andromeda. What am I going to say to her? I hardly got to talk to her at the funeral because there were so many other people around, but now..." He trailed off and Hermione found herself frustrated that he would not meet her eye.

Hermione flopped to the grass and closed her eyes. "You don't have to say anything, Harry. It wasn't your fault and she knows that. She's coming to show you her grandson, your godson, not to receive an apology."

He said nothing.

With a deep breath, eyes still shut tightly, Hermione changed the subject. "I'm going to go find my parents soon. I don't know how, exactly, but I've got to. I really miss them."

"Yeah?" came Ron's muffled voice from beside them. Apparently he hadn't been sleeping too deeply. "When?"

"As soon as I can afford the plane ticket," she replied indifferently

"Plane ticket?" She heard him sit up beside her.

"Yes, Ron, plane ticket," she answered, sitting up as well.

"Couldn't you just Apparate to wherever they are?"

"No," she replied, trying to maintain her patience. "I can't just Apparate to the middle of Australia; I have no idea where I'd end up. Plus, if I were to miraculously land right where my parents are, it would be a serious breach of secrecy, as they are Muggles, who don't know they have a witch for a daughter."

"Oh yeah. They don't know they have a kid at all, do they? I almost forgot," replied Ron casually. He lay down in the grass again, eyes shut, oblivious as Hermione stiffened. With an angry scoff at his insensitivity, she too fell back upon the grass.

"What does it matter?" she muttered. "It'll be forever before I have the money to start searching for them..."

There was a long pause between the three of them.

"Here," Ron finally whispered, quietly enough that Harry (who appeared to be deep in thought, or sleep) didn't hear. His hand bumped hers and she looked sideways over at him. "It's all I've got right now, but it's a start, right?"

In his hand were two Knuts and a Sickle.

"Oh, Ron, I..."

"Just take it. It's alright. I'll be helping George out at the joke shop soon. It's been closed for weeks, so I'll be getting it back on its feet, now that Fr--" He stopped and changed course. "Well, I'll be making a few extra Galleons, won't I? And...and you're welcome to whatever you need to go find your parents again."

Hermione felt a strong wave of tenderness for Ron wash over her, reddening her cheeks, forcing her to smile. Her heart beat a little faster and she had a very strong urge to sit closer.

"I...I don't know what to say..."

He pressed the coins into her hand and did not let go.

"Thank you," she whispered, still beaming at his chivalry. Ron grinned sheepishly. She wondered vaguely if this was the moment, but was interrupted when Harry suddenly spoke. They're hands broke apart as she jumped.

"Hermione, how did you say you were getting to Australia?"

He didn't seem to have been listening. Perhaps he had dozed off momentarily in the shade, or was consumed in his thoughts about Teddy. It wouldn't be the first time he'd been completely unaware of her and Ron's conversations. Hermione answered his question with subdued bitterness.

Harry coughed a little. "Well, I...I was just thinking. It's my fault you had to go through all of that in the first place. The next time we're at Gringotts, I promise I'll get you your ticket and anything else you need paid for. You can be back in England with them by the end of this month."

The offer was tempting. Hermione was silent, looking pleadingly to Ron whose face had darkened slightly. Harry had apparently been expecting an immediate 'yes', and sat up when he did not hear one. Ron nodded and gave Hermione an insincere grin.

With her eyes still on Ron, she said, over her shoulder to Harry, "Umm...yes. Yes, thank you, Harry. That...that would be wonderful."

Mrs. Weasley's voice broke out across the yard, calling them back to greet their guests. Ron was the first to stand and the three of them traipsed across the wide lawn. Hermione caught up to Ron and tried to give him back the coins.

"Keep it," he muttered jerking his hand back.

They stepped into the foyer and were met by Ginny, who was carrying a small, dozing baby with brilliant red hair.

"Say hi," she whispered, turning so the others could see his face.

Harry stopped in his tracks and Ginny approached. With a sly grin, she passed Teddy into the arms of his godfather. Hermione edged over beside Ginny and the two of them smiled at each other while Ron stood awkwardly off to the side. Harry seemed to feel quite out of place with a baby in his arms. His arms were tense, his expression strained. Hermione wondered vaguely if he'd ever held a baby.

"You have to relax," Ginny soothed. "You'll stress Teddy out if you stress out. They can sense that."

He looked up and made to hand Teddy back to Ginny, clearing his throat uncomfortably.

"I'll take him," Hermione said quietly. She lifted the child's warm form from Harry's arms, settling him comfortably in the crook of her arm. He sighed cutely and Hermione swelled with affection, beaming brightly down at him and swaying slightly from side to side.

"Andromeda is in the sitting room," Ginny whispered, leaning gently into Harry's side and intertwining their fingers. She led the way into the other room where Mrs. Weasley and Andromeda Tonks were sitting side by side on the sofa, chatting. Hermione took the big armchair and Ron perched on the arm, leaning in to look at Teddy.

"He's..." Ron gave a small cough. "He's really cute."

Hermione looked up at him, still smiling broadly. "Would you like to hold him?"

"Well," He coughed again. "I-I don't...nah, you're doing great. He's fine right where he is, isn't he? Hey look, his hair's changing color!"

Hermione looked down, and as Teddy's eyes flickered open his mop of red hair slowly changed to a dull brown. He peered up at Hermione with his searching blue eyes, yawned, and fell back asleep.

"Oh, now, isn't this a pretty picture?" Mrs. Weasley said to Andromeda, clapping her hands together.

Ron and Hermione looked up to see Ron's mother beaming at them, her hands clasped. Ginny laughed and Ron turned scarlet.

"Mum..." he groaned quietly. "Knock it off..."

Hermione too felt a blush creeping to her cheeks. She rose from the armchair and jerked her head at Ron.

"Have a seat, Ron. It's your turn to hold Teddy."

"But--"

"Don't be silly. You've held a baby before, I'm sure. You have a huge family and there's bound to be a baby somewhere."

"Yeah, but that was years ago, and it threw up on me!"

She gave him her best bossy look and he edged off the arm and into the chair. Hermione bent down and gently transferred the babe to Ron's outstretched arms. He leaned back into the depths of the chair and let out a nervous sigh.

"Where'd you learn to hold a baby, then?" he asked in a harsh whisper. "You're an only child!"

"Oh for goodness sake, Ron, my parents and I did not just fall into being. My parents had parents, and therefore I have aunts and uncles and cousins."

He did not respond, choosing instead to look at the mass in his arms. The tender look Ron wore as he looked down at Teddy brought another smile to her face. The others were talking quietly amongst themselves, but Hermione did not bother to listen in. It took quite a bit of self control for her to avoid thinking too far into the future. She held out a finger, pressing it lightly to Teddy's hand. He gripped it firmly, slowly opened his eyes, and looked to Ron. The baby's forehead was creased in comic consternation.

A few moments passed before Teddy's mouth fell open in a miserable wail.

"Take it!" Ron said, as if suddenly frightened. "Hermione, do something! Take it!"

Andromeda broke away from the sofa at once and swooped down to her grandson.

"He's hungry," she said softly, her kind eyes looking down at Ron and Hermione, completely calm despite the bawling baby over her shoulder.

"I can feed him," Harry blurted, standing abruptly from where he and Ginny had perched. "I want to do it."

\\*//

Andromeda and Teddy stayed through dinner before the Weasleys, Hermione, and Harry bade them farewell. Evening approached quickly, bringing with it a refreshing cool. Hermione sat on the front steps, watching Crookshanks bat at the fireflies. Moths and mosquitoes buzzed by the porch light. She had hoped her mind would clear itself out here in the silence, but it seemed to be the perfect breeding place for thoughts...

Her head swam with images of the future. Would she find her parents again? What would her seventh year Hogwarts bring now that there was no foreboding presence to deal with and she, Ron, and Harry could focus just on schoolwork? Would she and Ron last the year? Would they last longer? Would marriage be a possibility? Would children be present years from now? Would that 'pretty picture' Mrs. Weasley had been so delighted by become a reality?

But of course it was silly to think that far ahead. Or was it? Perhaps it was, when Voldemort was still out there and whether or not they would all come out alive was uncertain. Butn ow the entire world was split open like a buffet of possibility. So why did it seem unreasonable to think about a future with Ron? Because she was not used to this freedom of opportunity? She'd convinced herself last summer to expect and prepare for the worst; she had not given the future a second thought.

Her thoughts were interrupted when the front door opened behind her. Ron stepped out and sat beside her on the stoop without a word. In silent greeting, she leaned against him, setting her head on his shoulder and wrapping her fingers in his. The sun had just set and a chorus of crickets had broken into song. The fireflies danced around them, innumerable across an expansive grass field in the distance.

Not sure what was motivating her, Hermione stood slowly, tugging gently on Ron's hand, leading him into the concert of the night. As they walked, more lightning bugs flew up around them, swirling around their heads before drifting into the dark oblivion.

"So when you've got the money from Harry, I expect you'll be off as soon as possible?" Ron asked quietly.

Hermione looked up at his shadow of a face.

"Ron, if...if you don't want me to take it from him, I won't." He made no reply so she continued. "And I don't need to borrow any money from you, either, if it's a hardship. I would just have to wait until after N.E.W.T. year when I can get a proper job and start saving..."

There was a tense pause.

"No, Hermione," Ron finally said. "I know you want to see your parents again. I just want you to be happy. It doesn't matter how it happens. You should...you should find them as soon as you can, right? The fastest way would be to let Harry help. It's what I would do if it were me..."

They had stopped walking and turned to face each other. Fireflies skipped around them, briefly illuminating their faces for each other to see. She gripped his hand tightly, smiling faintly up at him. He was so selfless, so sweet, so kind...Her heart was beating rather fiercely, the tall grass hissing around their legs, joining in with the cricket's harmonious chirps. Hermione reached up to his face, brushing a stray lock of hair from his eyes. With a push of her toes, she rose to eye level, wrapped her arms around his shoulders, and gently pressed her lips to his.

It was a different kind of kiss than all those weeks ago. The world seemed to slow down. There was none of the desperate passion of a first (and possibly last) kiss. It was slow, and easy, and whimsical in thel ightshow of fireflies and moonbeams. It was both sweet and breathtaking, simple and incredible. When they broke apart, it felt perfectly natural to lean against him, staring out over the yard in silence, looking up at the starry night sky.

"What do you think it'll be like?" Hermione whispered. "To have a school year where nothing terrible happens?"

"It'll be pretty boring, I expect," Ron replied with a nonchalant tone. "You'll keep yourself occupied though, I'm sure, studying for those N.E.W.T.s. Aren't you taking, like, twelve?"

She elbowed him playfully.

"Eight," she chuckled. "Just eight."

"Right, right..._only_ eight."

"How many are you taking?" Hermione asked snidely.

She felt him tense and she looked up at him. Ron was avoiding eye contact, trying to look busy in an attempt to catch one of the glowing bugs one-handed.

"Ron..."

"What?" he asked stupidly.

"How many N.E.W.T.s are you taking?"

"Oh, uh..." He cleared his throat. "Hermione, look...Harry and I have been talking. We...well, school has always been your thing, you know? We don't really feel like...like that's what's for us. George needs help with his joke shop, Hermione, and--"

"I thought you were just going to help him this summer!" she whispered harshly, his words falling over her like cold water.

"It's going to take longer than that to get the shop back on its feet again, and after that, who knows? But Hogwarts isn't in the picture for me, or Harry. Kingsley's asked for his help getting the Auror department back up and running, so he'll be busy there. We don't _want_ to go back to school, Hermione...I'm sorry..."

All of her retorts were choked off somewhere in her throat.

"You'll still have Ginny...and Luna. And you know there's always Hagrid," Ron muttered guiltily.

"Will you write to me?" Hermione said sharply, the only proper sentence she could form.

"Yeah, of course," he replied, though its sincerity was debatable.

She glared at him suspiciously.

"I mean it! Every day if you want..."

They stood silently, Hermione soaking in this new information as she leaned against him again. She'd assumed they were going back to school _together,_ but she should have seen it coming. Ron was right; school was her thing, not his, and not Harry's. But the idea of returning without them made her sick to her stomach.

A lightning bug hovered languidly in front of her. She locked her eyes to it and followed its trail. It was catching up to another of its kind, and when united they flew away as a perfect pair, headed for the midnight blue sky. Watching them buzz away, she suddenly felt a sinking feeling in the middle of her chest, right over her heart. They were lucky, she thought bitterly, only averting her eyes when the firefly couple had disappeared into the lightshow they and their fellows performed. They were lucky to have the freedom to be together. They could live in the now, no need to worry about the future.

Jealous of their liberty, Hermione tightened her hold on Ron's fingers, wishing they could follow the firefly's example. But things were different. There was business to attend to on both their accounts, him with George and the joke shop, and her witha seventh year at Hogwarts...without him.


	2. Australia

Chapter Two: Australia

Hermione looked out over the endless ocean, navy blue, dark beneath her airplane window. She felt a rock of anxiety settle in her stomach as thoughts of _not_ finding her parents flew through her mind for the hundredth time. The plan was simple. Plane, hotel, phone book. The same unease she'd felt all those months ago came back like an unwanted old friend.

She felt alone and isolated. Such an abrupt return to the Muggle world made her feel vulnerable and exposed. Yet at the same time it was as if she were returning to the easy normalcy of her childhood, vacationing from her stressful life as a witch. She fidgeted with the Muggle book in her lap, too nervous even to read.

Though Harry had withdrawn a substantial amount of funds from his vault in Gringotts for her, it was Ron who kindly bought her a new wand. She would pay them all back, of course, when her parents were back in England (it certainly didn't please her to borrow off her two friends) but she was touched by the gesture. The wand was now sitting in her luggage, tucked away where she'd sent it on a sort of hiatus. Birch, twelve inches exactly, dragon heartstring, banished until needed for the fated counter to the memory charms. For some reason she felt her endeavor to find Wendell and Monica Wilkins must remain as much a Muggle matter as possible. Magic felt like overkill.

She pulled her legs up to her chest, resting her head on them as she closed her eyes. Muggle flying felt much safer anyway, she thought to herself. Safer than half-blind dragons, than invisible thestrals, than flimsy broomsticks...Images of Ron and Harry and Ginny back at the Burrow playing Quidditch popped into her head and she wished silently that one of them had been able to accompany her on this lonesome trip. At least, to keep her more company than the old man snoring beside her.

Sleep claimed her and she did not wake for many hours. She dreamt she was flying on the blind dragon. She, Ron, and Harry jumped into the icy lake, which turned into the ocean below. The current carried her away until she was completely lost, completely alone. She called for her parents…Only when she woke sharply to the landing in Sydney did she break free of the ocean's waves. Hermione shuffled through the gate, through the baggage check, through customs and currency exchange, before she finally stood, as alone as ever, on a busy, bustling street full of people.

Her stomach felt as if it had evaporated and the enormity of the task ahead felt like a crushing weight on her shoulders. But, she reminded herself, she had been through much worse. She tried to imagine Ron beside her, tried to hear his voice. It was just like finding a Horcrux. Only, she was looking for people. Nice people. And they weren't hidden by layers upon layers of dark magic. And there were no Death Eaters following her every step. Confidence poured back into her like a warm tonic, and with a bit more self-assurance, she hailed a taxi and asked for the nearest budget hotel.

The driver had an easy, friendly manner about him. He kindly pointed out the harbor, the bridge, and the opera house to her. The bright sun glared off the surface of the enormous white crests of the peculiarly shaped building. The harbor glistened with the sails of countless boats, and as the taxi took Hermione over the bridge, she looked off into the distance where she saw nothing but blue waves and seagulls flying capriciously in the strong ocean breezes.

The taxi stopped in front of a two-story building, hidden in the middle of the heavy hum of downtown Sydney. Hermione thanked and paid the driver before entering the lobby, luggage tightly in hand. It wasn't particularly spacious; a single wilted plant sat in the corner next to a pair of overstuffed chairs and a coffee table scattered with tatty magazines.

"How can I help you?" the woman at the front desk asked with a brilliantly white smile so fixed it must have been fake.

Hermione booked a room for the night, and gripped the keys tightly in her hand as she ascended in an elevator that smelled of burning plastic. Her room was small, the bed covered in a cheesy floral comforter. The single light in the bathroom flickered when she turned it on. She set her luggage in the corner and began searching the room for a phonebook. It was the only thing she could really think of that would aid her in her search. There weren't even any spells she knew of that could help. She found one in the drawer of the end table beside the bed and weighed it within her hands, as if trying to sense if it held the information she desired.

The well worn book fell open on the bed when she set it down and she paged slowly through to the Ws, a page at a time, as if the editors might have messed up their alphabetizing and put 'Wilkins' between 'Watson' and 'Wesley' instead. Preparing for the worst, she skimmed her finger down a series of 'Wiggins' and 'Wilcox' until…

Wilson.

It simply skipped to Wilson.

Disappointed but not surprised, she shut the book and cast it back into the drawer. So, they weren't in Sydney. Perhaps she would have some dinner and then head to a library or somewhere with a complete listing of every inhabitant in all of Australia. She pressed the pillow to her face and let out a frustrated groan. The emptiness of the room and the vastness of the job ahead made her wish all the more her parents could just be there with her. She was sick of being strong, brave, and in charge. The solitude of the tacky wallpapered room pressed in around her, suffocating her…or perhaps it was the pillow over her face.

Sitting there wallowing wasn't going to fix anything. She grabbed her room key and purse and wandered back to the lobby. The one woman was still sitting at the desk, doodling on a pad of paper.

"Excuse me," Hermione said politely. "Would you happen to have phonebooks for the surrounding areas?"

"There should be one in your room, in the drawer beside your bed," she said, turning to Hermione with her white smile.

"I looked at that one," she sighed. "I need to see any other ones there are, for the whole country if I could…"

The woman stared at her, one eyebrow rising with interest.

"That's all we've got, sorry," she said, struggling to maintain her smile.

"Well, could you tell me where those would be available?" Hermione pressed, tapping her palm on the counter impatiently.

"Library, I expect."

"Where?"

"Five minute drive south, thereabouts?" the woman offered. "Twenty minute stroll."

"Do you have a map?" Hermione asked breathlessly.

She gave hurried thanks when the rectangular pamphlet was handed to her, rushing out the front door into the city. The sun had drifted beneath the buildings now and the evening crowds were arriving, pouring into bars and restaurants, while the afternoon hordes were exiting the high flying towers for their drive home. Brightly illuminated street advertisements lined the sidewalks, and dotted the wide pavilions, intermixed with well-tended, decorative foliage. Her steps were so quick she managed to get to the library within fifteen minutes. It was a large, ornate building, as elegant on the inside as the outside. With determination she approached the front desk where a kindly looking middle-aged woman sat.

"Excuse me," Hermione began, fidgeting. "I need to take a look at your phonebooks, if you please."

The woman looked her over. "Which one?"

"All of them, actually, if I may…"

She gave Hermione a bemused expression before pointing off toward a distant bookcase. Rows of thick, blue books were lined up near a row of public telephones. Hermione smiled in thanks and took off for the other side of the building. With practiced hands, she balanced a stack of nine of these fat directories (all but the Sydney area) and staggered over to the nearest table. Queensland and Tasmania turned up empty. She retrieved another stack. The Melbourne area had a Wilkins, but it was Gary, not Wendell or Monica. Perth and the rest of the west coast returned nothing. Panic began to fill her as she reached the bottom of the shelves and still had no possibilities. When not even the whole of Victoria offered up a Wilkins, Hermione slammed her head dully on the table before her.

Resisting the urge to cry, berating herself for not thinking things through, she stacked up and replaced the books. She left the library hurriedly and stopped in a deli across the street for a bit of dinner. The turkey sandwich was only half eaten by the time she threw it away. Hermione's appetite had vanished entirely as she thought desperately of what to do next. Nothing came to mind and jet lag was overtaking her, so she wandered back to the hotel and her room, defeated.

She'd spent so many meticulous hours planning her parents' disappearances, but had given so little thought to ensure finding them again. Just as before, her future had been shorted its fair share of consideration.

\\*//

Hermione awoke the next morning to a loud tapping at her hotel window. Her eyes fluttered open and she saw a flurry of feathers through the foliage. She walked drowsily to the glass pane and cranked it open. A ball of brown plumage somersaulted into the room and landed headfirst on Hermione's mussed bed.

Pigwidgeon straightened and shook the letter from his leg before chirping angrily.

"Pig!" Hermione cried, running over to him. She picked up his small form, but he turned his tail feathers to her and flew off to perch on the headboard. The letter was lying on her bed. Her heart skipped as she picked it up, for she saw her name was written on the front in Ron's rough scrawl. Hermione tore it open at once and read voraciously. There were many scratched out parts and rewrites and she wondered how many drafts he'd gone through.

_Hermione,_

_Hopefully Pig managed to get this to you. When I told him to go to Sydney a week early and wait for you there, __he looked sort of confused. I figured he'd get it when it took him a week to get there. I sent him early so you'd get this letter when you first arrived. I said I'd write to you, didn't I?_

_Knowing you, I bet you found your mum and dad already. I don't remember much about them, because I think the last time I saw them was back in our third year, and __I never really got a good conversation in with them, and you don't talk about your family much._

_By the time you get this I reckon Mum'll be driving me up the wall. She'll be __just about as happy as you were when I tell her I won't be going back to school. __I'm not happy about being away from you, though. School, sure, but it's going to be really strange without you around all the time whenever I need information from _A History of Magic_. Do you know they have a new edition out? In memory of Bathilda Bagshot's death. Real collector's item, I bet. Be a right bit of irony if you had that copy, __since you were there when she died__. But anyway, I meant it when I said I'd write you __all the time __whenever you wanted. It's a good habit, right? Builds character or something like that?_

_I hope you're enjoying your new wand. Don't worry about paying me back—it's my treat._ —Hermione creased her eyebrows and pursed her lips—_Don't argue either, because we'll just get angry with each other and you still won't get to pay me back.—_She laughed to herself and continued—

_Since nothing new has happened because I sent this letter while you were still here, I'm going to use my impressive Divination skills to guess what'll happen while you're thousands of miles away. My first prediction, I'm going to miss you the most when Harry and Ginny are off snogging and I'm stuck helping Mum with the dishes. My second prediction—death. I sense death in your future. By __brutally choking on owl feathers. In the shape of a Grim. That's a nice touch, right? The Grim? Always a classic._

_So I'm running out of things to write about. I figured I'd send this in case you were lonely or something out there in the Muggle world._

_--Ron_

She smiled to herself and read the letter a second time, and then a third. It was touching. He hardly ever thought ahead about anything, but he'd planned this letter for her. She didn't even know he knew what irony was, much less how to use it to describe something. His voice rang in her ears at that thought,

'_Always the tone of surprise…'_

Hermione suddenly felt a bit guilty. He wasn't stupid or insensitive. Like anyone else he would say stupid and insensitive things, but it didn't define him. Ron truly had good intentions at heart. The letter bore witness to this fact. He really was trying his hardest, given the numerous scratched out parts. Jokes were minimal until the end as if he was concerned she wouldn't appreciate the humor. He must have felt uncomfortable writing her a letter and had to warm up to being himself. She could just see him in his room at the Burrow, pile of crumpled parchment, his brow furrowed in concentration…

Pigwidgeon was preening his heavily ruffled feathers and was the grumpiest she'd ever seen him. He likely didn't appreciate flying for days on end when he knew the person he was supposed to be delivering to was down the hall. Hermione folded the letter and set it on the end table, crossing to Pigwidgeon.

"Are you hungry, Pig?"

He didn't seem to be very good at holding a grudge. Pig flew into the air immediately and began buzzing around the room. Hermione grinned, and left the owl to his fervor. There was a continental breakfast being served downstairs, to the right of the lobby. The woman from the night before was not at the desk, replaced instead with a wizened old man who appeared to be falling asleep.

Hermione had a bowl of spaghetti and some buttered toast for breakfast after vegemite proved not to her taste. She took a couple extra pieces of bacon (for lack of anything proper) for Pig and meandered back to her room where she slumped on the bed. The owl ate happily as Hermione watched with her chin in her cupped hands. When Pig finished, he flew off to sit atop the dresser where he put his tiny head under his tiny wing and went to sleep.

Sighing, Hermione sat up and glanced over at Ron's letter. She grabbed the message pad and pen from beside the phone and began to write.

_Dear Ron,_

_Though Pig doesn't seem particularly happy, he did make it. I just fed him some bacon and he's resting now. I wouldn't be surprised if he seems upset with you upon his return._

_You'll be surprised to hear, though, that I have not yet found Wendell and Monica Wilkins. They aren't in the phone books (remember? The books with the numbers in them that lets you talk to anyone with a telephone), so I don't have a clue where I'm going to go next. But it can't be any harder than finding a you-know-what, so I'm trying to stay positive. When I do find them, though, you'll be welcome to talk to them as long as you like. I've told them a lot about you, and they've always seemed interested in getting to know you for themselves._

_The wand is working perfectly, and I can't thank you enough. I won't argue, but when I get back I owe you a trip to Fortescue's. _

_A new edition of _A History of Magic_ in memory of Bathilda Bagshot's death? Yes, that would be rather ironic, wouldn't it? I'll take a look at it the next time we're in Diagon Alley._

_Be patient with your mother. And I hope you don't miss me just because you wish we were off snogging too. I'm sure what you mean is you wish I was doing the dishes with you so you didn't feel like the third wheel. As for your other prediction, I don't think I'm going to have any problems with owl feathers any time soon. Pigwidgeon doesn't hold a grudge well, and he's quite partial to bacon._

_I really appreciate your letter. Oddly enough, I was missing you all already. Hope to see you soon!_

She paused before signing her name. Now she understood Ron's dilemma. She could write 'love' as she had all those years, but it had a different ring to it now and she was not sure if it was something she felt comfortable conveying yet. What did it matter, though, really? If anything it would make Ron happy, wouldn't it? That was supposing he noticed at all. She wrote the word and decided it looked satisfactory on the paper. With a flourish of her pen, she signed her name, folded up the note and set it beside Ron's letter.

Pigwidgeon was still asleep. The room was quiet. She had no leads to finding her parents. Perhaps a walk would clear things up. As she strode out of the lobby, she noticed the woman from the night before had returned. She was chatting to the uninterested old man about the latest edition of some magazine.

The sun was bright yet again that morning, shining teasingly at her back as she walked. She took a very long stroll past several brick-paved pavilions and innumerable skyscrapers, only stopping when she arrived at a wooded park beside the water's edge. The harbor was straight ahead, a perfect tableau of the opera house and the bridge. As she sat down on a bench, the ocean breeze blowing her hair from her face, rustling the greenery around her, she thought peacefully that at least she'd sent her parents somewhere beautiful.

She couldn't lose herself, however. Dragging herself back to the here and now, Hermione thought about her options. She could stare for hours at stacks of phone books. She could try looking up dentist offices in the area. There was the computer option, but the very few times she'd tried to use it to look up something, it had only given back garbage. Unsure where to start, but afraid of stagnation, she decided to retire to her room and send Ron that letter.

\\*//

Upon reentrance to the lobby, Hermione only glanced at the receptionist's bright smile before sprinting up to her room, swapping the precarious elevator for the staircase, and taking two steps at a time. A sudden thought had just occurred to her and she could not believe her uncharacteristic stupidity. Had it been the jet lag? Had it been her worrying?

Pigwidgeon broke into a frenzy when Hermione thrust open the door. Ignoring him, she dove across the bed and removed the phone book, searching the front cover for the information she sought. And there it was, plainly written in white numbers…

With a gentle thud, Hermione set her forehead on the cover of the book. She'd been looking in the wrong edition. The phone book within her fingers was from three years ago. A huge wave of indignation and relief swept through her. She grabbed the folded letter to Ron from the bedside table and scribbled a postscript telling him she'd likely find her parents soon enough. Pigwidgeon was still hooting about the room and she only managed to calm him down when she held up the piece of paper. He was calmed, certainly, but also grumpy once again.

"Take this to Ron," Hermione commanded. With a broad smile, she added, "I might be back when you get there."

With a resigned twitter, the bird flew out the window she'd cracked open for him. As soon as it was shut again, she delved into her suitcase and removed her new wand, holding it gingerly in her palm. It was a poignant moment of realization. Finally it felt real. It felt as if she were really going to see them again.

Grabbing her bag from the bed, she scampered back downstairs, past the bemused receptionist, past the pavilion, past rows of skyscrapers, until she reached the imposing stance of the library. The same librarian greeted her but Hermione did not remain for small talk. She headed straight to the row of phone books, straight to the glossy Sydney directory, straight to the W's, and then…

W. & M. Wilkins

451 Cook Avenue

(02) 9690 0870

She choked back a whimper of excitement with the back of her hand. There was no need for her to grab a pen and paper; the words and numbers were permanently engrained in her mind already. Hermione snapped the book shut and replaced it on the shelf, hurrying back down the stairs with double the anticipation of before. The map was stowed in her bag and she ripped it out, viciously scanning the page for Cook Avenue…

\\*//

Hermione forgot to breathe as she stepped out of the taxi, peering with unsettled quietude at the quaint little house. The small front yard was encased by a short, decorative brick wall. The house was one story, beige stucco walls nestled beneath a rust-colored slate roof. A gnarled tree with red leaves sat beside its only companion, a tall, stout, green shrub. The front door was hidden at the end of a decorative cove, accented with the same rust color of the roof to offset the otherwise plain exterior of the house. The numbers '451' were emblazoned in gold on the black, tin mailbox sitting on the brick wall.

Her wand pressed pointedly against her from her back pocket, as if urging her to step forward. With legs like lead, she forced herself onward, crossing the cement stoop with its unassuming potted plants and coolly swaying wind chimes. With a deep breath that nearly made her pass out, Hermione reached out and with a frightening sense of climax, pressed the doorbell.

The gentle trill of the bell felt as sonorous as large church bells, echoing in her ears. She felt suspended in time as the seconds passed. The doorknob turned and her mouth went completely dry, her tongue stuck, incapacitated at the roof of her mouth as she looked up to the lined face of her father.

"Can I help you?" he asked with a slight Australian lilt.

For a few moments she could not breathe. A few moments after recovering from that lapse, she still could not think. When thoughts finally emerged, she could not bring herself to speak.

"Do I know you?" He looked rather puzzled.

And Hermione burst into tears.

His look of bemusement was replaced by alarm. He broke into a splutter of apologies and with the civility of a host, not a father, he guided her into the house.

"Monica!" he shouted down the hall, leading Hermione to the sofa in the sitting room. "Monica, come here please!"

He set a box of tissues in Hermione's lap and continued staring at her wildly, standing back where he was well removed from her, unsure what to do with this strange girl who had suddenly appeared at his doorstep.

"What is it, Wendell?" A woman with bushy brown hair streaked with gray jogged into the room from two doors down. When she saw Hermione, she looked frantically at her husband. Hermione heard them whispering harshly amongst themselves as she tried to calm herself. She'd messed it up. She'd forgotten to follow the plan. She'd let the chaos gain control. It was not difficult to imagine what her parents must be thinking now.

"Would you like to use a telephone?" her mother asked kindly, coming and sitting gingerly beside her on the sofa, as if afraid she would snap into a flying rage.

Hermione shook her head calmly with a sniff. Wiping her eyes, biting her lip, Hermione stood and slid one of her hands into her pocket. Her mother stood as well, backing towards her husband, both of them eyeing Hermione with great concern.

"Right," her mother began, clutching the man's fingers as they closed around her shoulder. "Well, my husband here is going to go call the police so we can get you some help, alright, dear? Would you like a cup of tea, see if you can finish calming down before they get here and take you home?"

Hermione shook her head and at once brandished her wand. She could hear the spell replaying itself, over and over in her mind, just as she'd practiced…

The two of them jumped at first, as if worried she had a gun or knife, but when they saw what she was holding, looks of confusion crossed their faces once again. The looks of fright they wore were just as painful to see as all those months ago when she'd first altered their memory bank.

"_Redextus mentiris_!" Hermione shouted with a final purge of these thoughts, attempting to focus.

A billow of pale blue smoke emitted from the end of her wand, engulfing the two figures on the other side of the room. Hermione coughed as the smoke dispersed, her eyes searching the haze for recognizable faces. Her parents emerged from the mist, dazed as they looked around the room they were familiar with, but for which they had no context.

"Hermione?" came her mother's voice as they glimpsed each other through the smoke. "What happened?"

Hermione dove across the room, practically throwing herself against her mother's form. She savored the tight arms around her, clutched desperately to the pale cardigan as she let loose. For the first time in over a year she at least _felt_ free of responsibility for her own existence, free from being independent, free from having a plan, from being in charge. She did not even realize the tears were pouring again until she felt her mother shaking with sobs above her.

"Honey, what's wrong? What's happened? Please," Her mother sniffed and trembled with the fear of seeing her daughter so distraught, knowing something was terribly wrong. She pushed Hermione away so they could make eye contact. "What has _happened to you_?"

Hermione looked away shamefully, catching her father's stern gaze only momentarily before feeling yet another wave of disgrace wash over her. Her mother's grip on her shoulders tightened.

"Did you use magic on us? _Why_?" her mother demanded, giving Hermione a small shake.

"I had to," Hermione squeaked through a sob. "I had to, to protect you."

"You have a lot of explaining to do," her father said in the low voice that screamed disappointment, the quiet voice that made her wish he would yell instead. "Cecilia, why don't you two sit down. I'll get some tea and we'll have a talk."

Her mother looked as if she were debating between giving Hermione another tight embrace and having a screaming fit.

"What do you remember?" Hermione asked, wiping her face with her sleeve, taking shuddering breaths as they sat on the sofa. "What do you know? Do you know where you are? What day it is?"

"We're in Sydney, Australia," Cecilia replied calmly, shaking her head from side to side, incredulous. "I know I have not seen you in over a year. I know where I am. But I don't know why I'm here. It's as if I had a dream, where all the facts were different from reality but I believed them in the dream…Oh God, Hermione what did you do to us?" she pleaded.

Her father came back in with his stern gaze and handing her a cup of tea without so much as a flicker of a smile. Hermione considered vaguely what to include, what to exclude. She did not feel she could bear to lie outright to her parents even more, or even lie by omission. She had to tell them everything, so they could understand.

And so for the better part of that afternoon, Hermione Granger spilled out her soul over tea. Her mother went pale when she told them about being tortured. Her father went pale when she told them about kissing Ron. By the end, her voice was hoarse from explaining. Her eyes ached from crying so much and her cheeks stung from all the salty tears. Her mother and father looked entirely drained. They hung in silence for several minutes. It was dark, but their eyes had grown accustomed to the obscurity and they had forgotten to turn on the lights.

"Do you understand? Do you understand why I had to? To keep you safe?" Hermione said in a hoarse, hushed whisper. "Please understand, it killed me to do that to you, it really did…If there had been any other way…"

Something in her parents' looks told her they were still unhappy, but that they did comprehend her reasoning. It was the most she could ask for.


	3. Differ in Opinion

Chapter Three: Differ in Opinion

It had been a few days since their return to the country, and that was even after they'd spent a few more days in Australia cleaning up the mess of alternate identities. It was difficult for Hermione to get a read on her parents, whether they were thrilled to see her again, safe, or if they were absolutely furious with her. Most of the time it was a mixture of both. One minute her mother would wrap her in a tight hug, the next she would be muttering spitefully under her breath about sorting out the mortgage.

Upon their arrival they discovered Hermione's charms to keep other Muggles out of their old home had held up. It was still there, though it was hardly the home they remembered. All the plants were completely dead, abandoned for months without water. The walls and shelves and drawers were bare from Hermione stripping them of any hint of her existence. The furniture was coated with a thick layer of dust.

There was a long stretch of poignant sadness as the family readjusted to their home. It lasted several days as they tried to recover what was lost. Her father was unbelievably ornery and impossible to talk to when he found out Hermione had closed their dental office and he would have to start anew. Their ability to 'understand' was stretched to the limit as Hermione painfully revealed every detail of her scheme, especially when it turned out they had no water or electricity. Her excuse of, "It was for your own good," was losing its efficacy.

She was silent most of the time, especially at dinner. Her head was always low, her movements measured, her words considered carefully and only spoken when she was first spoken to. It was over one such dinner that she told her parents she needed to go back to the Burrow.

"Absolutely not," her father responded immediately, causing her to shrink back into her chair, giving him a fierce stare, her lips pressed together angrily.

Her mother simply looked at her, contemplatively.

"It…it wouldn't be to stay," Hermione defended, smiling faintly as if it would soften him. "I just…I left some things there."

"Well, you've gone this long without them, haven't you?" her father replied. His bad mood was back, though she wasn't quite sure it had ever left. It was unusual for him to be so bad natured. He was avoiding Hermione's gaze, one hand gripping a fork, shoveling food into his mouth, the other closed in a fist on the table.

Her mother set a hand on his.

"What did you leave there?" Cecilia asked softly, turning her softened gray eyes to her daughter.

"Some clothes, my books, Crookshanks…" Hermione listed, barely making eye contact.

"And Ron?" her mother offered, her eyebrows raised haughtily.

Her father swallowed uncomfortably and removed his hand from his wife's grip.

"Your mother and I need to talk," he said with a cough, wiping his hands with a napkin to cover up his discomfort.

Hermione looked to the floor again, blushing profusely as she cleared her dishes from the table and put them in the sink to which the water supply had been freshly reopened. She walked partway up the stairs, then sat and listened out of sight as her parents talked.

"I don't want her to go back," she heard her father hiss. "It's dangerous, Cecilia. Look at everything she told us! It can't be safe. And this Ron, boy, if I could—"

Her mother interrupted calmly, coolly confident. "You thought he was a fine boy the last time you talked to him."

"Don't you see how he _treated_ her?" His voice rose slightly.

"Yes, but there are rough patches in every relationship!" she spat back. "Couldn't you see how much she cares about him when she was telling us what happened? She loves him, and—"

Her father gave a splutter. "It's _too dangerous_!"

"It's not the magic you're afraid of—it's Ron, isn't it?" she accused.

A prickly silence filled the space. Hermione sighed deeply, reminding herself to breathe.

"She's just going to pick up her things." Her mother's voice was low.

"Fine, but that's it. We'll take her to pick up her things, to…to say goodbye, maybe and—"

"Ambrose," her mother said sternly. "That's not the right way to go about this. Don't cut her off."

"I don't want her to be in danger again!" He shouted at full volume now. Hermione heard a scrape of a chair as he stood. "I just want what's best for her!"

"Don't you remember what it was _like_ for her in our world?" her mother yelled back, anguished. "I don't want her to be that miserable little girl again! She is _happy_ with them!"

Silence again. Hermione felt a lump swelling in her throat. She hoped desperately that her father's proposed banishment from the magical world was only out of anger, of worry, and that his doubts would fade with time. It was not normal for him. Her parents had always been so accommodating towards her "other" life, accepting her, even beaming with pride for her. They were just upset—upset that she'd turned her magic on them, upset that she'd almost died about a hundred times.

"We'll go tomorrow," came her mother's voice through the wall, quiet and low. "We will be civil. We will make pleasant conversation with people who are _very important to her_. We will _not ruin this for her._ Agreed?"

Hermione heard a muffled sound of agreement from her father and took it as her cue to go to go to her room for the night, a nagging sense of cold despondency pressing down on her. Only the thought of seeing Ron the next day made her feel any bit of warmth again.

\\*//

Hermione peered out the window of her father's car, filled with both fear and excitement at the sight of the Burrow. She'd had no way of contacting the Weasley's and letting them know she was back in the country; she possessed no owl, they possessed no mailbox or telephone. And so, it would be a surprise. The car pulled up the gravel driveway leading to the chicken coop and garage. As Hermione squinted against the sun and the dust being cast into the air, she saw the front door open and a figure step out.

The car slowed to a stop and Ginny ran over, beaming broadly with surprise as Hermione stepped out.

"Welcome back!" she said brightly, giving her a quick hug before turning to greet her parents. "Mr. and Mrs. Granger! Nice to see you again."

Hermione's father nodded curtly, looking concernedly at the chicken that was approaching their car; his wife grinned sweetly and elbowed him. Ginny shook their hands, still grinning, before turning to Hermione.

"Pig got your letter to Ron, if you were wondering," Ginny said quietly. "I've never seen him so miserable."

"Well, Pig isn't really one for long distance flights."

"Not Pig, Hermione. Ron!" Ginny laughed.

Hermione raised her eyebrows in surprise. "W-what did I say? I thought that…that—"

But the door had swung open yet again and Mrs. Weasley stepped off the stoop and, arms wide open, hurried over to Hermione and squeezed her tightly.

"Oh, it's great to see you again, dear! And—" She gasped and smiled gleefully. "You've brought your parents, how _lovely_. Long time no see, Cecilia, Ambrose." Molly let out a little laugh. "You simply _must_ stay for dinner!"

Mr. Granger raised his hand, finger poised in protest, but it was squelched by his wife.

"That would be lovely," Cecilia said kindly, patting her husband's hand.

Ginny and Hermione looked at each other and shared a silent agreement to talk later as the four of them were hurried into the house.

"Oh, Ron will be _so _happy to see you, Hermione, he's been absolutely impossible while you were gone!" Molly declared as she brought them to the sitting room, hushing up the Grangers with cups of tea.

Hermione shot a glance to Ginny, who responded with an affirming nod and raised eyebrows. Crookshanks scampered across the floor and dove into Hermione's lap, nearly knocking the tea from her hand.

"Where is Ron?" Hermione asked quietly, scratching Crookshanks' ears and trying to ignore her father, sitting like a bristly cat on her right side.

"He and Harry are in Diagon Alley," Molly replied. "A few things to attend to at the joke shop, if I recall." She smiled kindly, then turned to the Grangers. "My sons, Fred and—" Her face froze momentarily before she cleared her throat and started again. "My son, George runs a very lucrative business there, practical jokes and the like." Her voice wavered slightly but she managed to force a smile, raising a quivering cup of tea to her lips. Ginny was looking into her lap.

Mrs. Granger cut in gently. "Yes, Hermione's told us all about it. Nearly killed her father when she asked what he thought of love potions."

A faint giggle passed through the room.

"Oh, look, Ron's on his way back," Mrs. Weasley said brightly, gesturing at the family clock. Ron's hand had moved to 'traveling' and sure enough, within a few moments, the sound of a successful apparation out in the front lawn announced his and Harry's arrival.

Hermione stood abruptly, Crookshanks falling from her lap. She brushed away her father's commanding grip on her hand, quickly hurrying to the door. Harry nearly fell off the landing when she thrust it open.

"Ooh, sorry Harry!" Hermione cried. "Are you alright?"

"Fine," he said through clenched teeth, rubbing the side of his face.

She hugged him quickly, then Ron.

"When did you get here?" he asked quietly, squeezing her tightly.

"Maybe ten minutes ago?" she offered, breaking from Ron and smiling at the two of them. "My parents are here, inside, talking with your mother, Ron," she said, opening the door more widely and allowing Harry and Ron to enter. "I have so much to tell you!"

They crossed to the sitting room, Harry first, Hermione second, hooking a single finger with Ron's and leading him.

"Mum, Dad, you remember Ron," Hermione said, forcing a smile, putting a forceful hand to the small of his back and forcing him to step forward.

He gulped and outstretched his hand. "How are you, Mr. and Mrs. Granger?"

"Please, call me Cecilia," Hermione's mother said, taking Ron's hand.

"You can call me 'Sir'," said Mr. Granger, standing and shaking Ron's hand.

"Very funny, Dad," Hermione replied awkwardly.

"Not a joke." He was giving Ron a very steady stare.

"Mr. Granger would be more suitable, then, don't you think?" Cecilia suggested, pulling on her husband's arm and forcing him to sit once more on the sofa.

Molly cleared her throat. "How were things at the shop, today, Ron?"

"Er, good…they were good. I-I had this idea for, um, to—" He brought his hand up behind his head and messed with his hair. "Well, it's not finished yet or anything and I dunno if it'll be any good, but, sort of a knock off of Skiving Snack-boxes, only for people you don't like much. Like, a chocolate éclair that makes whoever eats it barf slugs, or something…I dunno, it's pretty stupid but I just thought it might add to the practical jokes section."

Hermione led Ron over to the armchair so he wouldn't catch the looks on her parents' faces at the mention of barfing slugs.

"Where did Harry and Ginny go?" Hermione whispered, sitting beside Ron on the arm of the chair.

"Off snogging, I expect," he muttered quietly as the Grangers and Molly continued in a conversation about the family clock.

"You don't know that," she replied, setting her head in her hand.

"_You_ haven't been here."

"Don't remind me," Hermione muttered. "I have _so_ much to tell you…" She glanced over at her parents who seemed to be completely fascinated with Molly's tale. "Come on," Hermione whispered, standing and taking Ron's hand. As they left the room she thought she saw her father try to get up, but he was restrained by his wife gently setting her hand on his knee and demanding he tell Molly about his dental practice.

Hermione and Ron walked hand-in-hand down to the garden as Hermione told him about her time in Australia—how she found her parents, when she lifted the spell, and the past week of trying to avoid their wrath.

"They're so angry with me, Ron. I don't think they know how to feel. They don't like that I used magic on them, but they understand why I did. They're frustrated with having to sort out all the bills and deal with their office." She let out a heavy sigh. "I feel terrible, _really_ terrible…"

"You had to do it Hermione," Ron offered. "They'll calm down eventually."

Hermione paused, leaning against the fence and looking into the green pond.

"My dad didn't want me to come here, Ron. I don't think he'd be satisfied unless I promised never to have anything to do with, well...I'm not so sure he's a fan of y—er, magic…He's not quite so accepting of it now I've used it against him."

Ron breathed, joining her against the fence. He paused, watching as tears sprung to Hermione's eyes. "Well, he's just angry, isn't he? He'll calm down. It's not like he's Harry's uncle or anything. He knows he can't just stamp the witch out of you, doesn't he?"

Hermione nodded. "It's not just that, he—" she stopped. "You know how I said I'd told them everything about our…trip?"

Ron nodded.

"Well, I did. I told them _everything…_"

Ron creased his eyebrows in thought, trying to remember what 'everything' was. "So…so you told him about…about how…about how I walked out…on you and Harry."

Hermione nodded, breathing slowly to avoid crying. "I just, I thought that—I thought he'd move past it when I told him about all the other things you did for me, but he's sort of…fixed on it."

Ron exhaled heavily through his nose, releasing himself from Hermione's grip and folding his hands on the edge of the fence. "Great…so I wasn't just imagining it. He does hate me."

"My mother doesn't care, Ron; she told my father she knew I lo—that it, um, didn't matter to me and that we'd moved on."

"Did he treat Krum like this?" Ron snapped.

Hermione felt her heart jolt with his harsh tone.

"He never met Krum. I never introduced them," she said steadily, trying to maintain her temper. "I never even told my father about Krum and I; I only told my mother."

Ron made an odd sound in the back of his throat, but said nothing else.

"It's not you, Ron," Hermione tried to assure him. "I'm his only daughter, his only _child_. It's sort of to be expected. He would have acted the same way with anyone else. And you also have to remember he's been in an impossibly irritable mood lately."

There was a long period of silence between them. Ron softened after a few moments and gently wrapped her hand in his again. They listened to the frogs chortling in the pond, watched as they scampered across the lily pads.

"I told Mum I wasn't going back to school. She's in denial, right now, I think. She keeps asking me to pick up my books whenever I go to help George."

Hermione looked at their hands, avoiding his eyes. She couldn't let him know she was on his mother's side.

"I hope things improve. She got over your brothers dropping out, didn't she?"

"Yeah," Ron mumbled. "But I think she's really determined to get me to go back. I think it was the one thing she'd used to keep her sanity when I told her last year we weren't going to school. She must have figured I'd be going back when we were done…"

Hermione was unsure what to say. She caressed his hand softly, leaning closer into him.

"I really missed you this past week, Ron," Hermione said gently, looking up at him. "I don't know if I could go a whole school year without you there. I keep thinking back on how horrible it felt with you gone and I can't get past it…"

Ron sighed guiltily, looking down at the ground. "Except it's different, because you know I'm coming back, and you know it's not the last time you're going to see me."

Hermione cleared her throat. "Yes, yes, of course. You're right, I'm being silly."

He removed his hand from hers and instead draped it across her shoulders, gently pulling her along as they walked again.

"Ginny said you were upset when you got my letter," Hermione began. "Did I say something to bother you?"

Ron shook his head and laughed a little. "Nah…I just…"

"What?" Hermione prodded.

He turned slightly red. "Well, er, you know…It made me miss you more. And I did sort of wish we were snogging too, not doing the dishes with my mum."

Hermione let out a hearty laugh as they entered the orchard. They sat down beneath a tree, overlooking the wide lawn, the garden, the Burrow itself. His arm was still around her and she'd curled up right next to him, her head tucked beneath his, breathing in his wonderful scent—cedar, like the trunk where he kept his clothes. With a little shot of bravery, she raised her head and kissed him. He reciprocated graciously. Hermione reveled in the moment, cuddled under the tree, well away from the problems called 'Mum and Dad.'

Ron broke away after awhile, brushing a lock of hair from Hermione's face.

"Hermione," Ron began softly.

"Hmm?" she replied through a small grin, still leaning in close, ready to continue.

"I think you're…you're really pretty."

Hermione let out a spluttering laugh.

"What?" Ron cried defensively, leaning away. "Why's that funny? I thought girls liked that!"

She shook her head and placed a hand to her mouth. "Nothing, it's not…just the way you…just the way you said it. You're so—"

"So what?"

She giggled and pressed her forehead against his, staring straight into his eyes. "You're just so—"

"Dead," came a stern voice. Hermione's father was clambering up the path toward them, looking reproachfully at the two of them.

They stood abruptly, Ron shrinking back and Hermione stepping forward.

"Dad, what are you doing here?" she hissed, crossing her arms.

"Trying to find you. Since when is it proper for you to go off without telling someone where it is you're going?"

"You're embarrassing me," Hermione said through clenched teeth. "Does Mum know you're here?"

"She's helping Molly cook dinner," he replied, setting a hand on Hermione's shoulder. "We should head back; food should be done soon, I expect."

Hermione shook off his hand. "I can get there myself."

Mr. Granger glanced up at Ron who gulped nervously. He then turned back to Hermione and said under his breath, "We'll talk later." With a quick nod in Ron's direction, he turned and walked back to the Burrow.

She looked back pleadingly at Ron. "I'm sorry," she whispered, reaching out and taking his hand.

"I think I've finally found something more terrifying than spiders," Ron said with a forced smile.

\\*//

Hermione and Ron sat by each other at the crowded table. Percy and Mr. Weasley had returned from work at the Ministry, George was visiting from the joke shop, Ginny and Harry had reappeared from wherever they'd stalked off to, and Mr. and Mrs. Granger were sitting directly across from Ron and Hermione while Mrs. Weasley bustled about, arranging the potatoes, green beans, and pot roast.

"So, Ron, Hermione's told us so much about you," Mrs. Granger said kindly, smiling at him, softly elbowing her husband to keep him from staring at the gaping hole in the side of George's head where an ear ought to have been.

Ron choked on his mashed potatoes and Hermione elbowed him. "Oh," He swallowed. "Has she?"

"It was very kind of you to buy her a new wand," she added, buttering a slice of bread.

Ron grinned cheekily. "Well, she was pretty upset when she lost her old one, so it seemed like the obvious thing to do."

Mrs. Granger nodded approvingly and then turned to Harry. "And Harry, we'll be sure to pay you back for getting Hermione out to Australia. We can't thank you enough."

Harry looked up from his plate and grinned. "No problem. Thanks."

"Sounds like we'll have to make a trip to Gringotts soon," Mrs. Weasley said brightly, finally taking the time to sit down, pulling up a chair and squeezing in at the corner between her husband and Mrs. Granger. "We have to pick up school supplies for Ron and Harry and Ginny, and I presume you'll have to pick up some too, Hermione."

Mr. Granger, Harry, and Ron all made odd noises in the back of their throats and all began to speak in objection at once.

"Mum, I already told you, Harry and I _aren't going back_," Ron said with exasperation. "George needs my help, and Harry has other plans."

"George needs your help for _now,"_ Mrs. Weasley said firmly. "But you need a decent education to pursue something else once the shop's back on its feet, which I expect won't take any longer than the summer, isn't that right George?"

"What's that?" he asked, looking up stupidly with a mouthful of roast. "I can't 'ear you," he added, gesturing at his missing ear. Mrs. Weasley grew red and George winked at Ron.

"She's quite right, you know," Percy piped up. "There are a lot of important positions opening up at the Ministry; you should finish school to be more competitive."

"Shut up, Percy," Ron muttered, though quiet enough that Percy did not hear.

"What about Hermione?" Mrs. Weasley persisted, gesturing at her with her fork.

Hermione accidentally spat her milk back into her cup, looking straight into Mrs. Weasley's eyes, almost undetectably shaking her head, silently willing her to _shut up_. Hermione had yet to tell her parents she intended to return for another year at Hogwarts.

Mrs. Weasley did not seem to get the message. "How do you think Hermione will feel, back at school with you two off gallivanting about? At least she has a good sense of ambition."

Hermione shook her head more noticeably, mouthing at Mrs. Weasley to quiet herself.

"Mum," Ron muttered, gripping his fork tightly. "Knock it off…"

"Though, Hermione, I do suppose you'll be in the same girl's dormitory as Ginny's year, since you're both technically 7th years, then. Isn't that exciting?"

Hermione threw a forced smile down the table to Ginny, who looked flashed one back unenthusiastically, but their smiles disappeared when Mr. Granger finally got a word out.

"Actually, Hermione's not attending school again this next year," he said, appearing to be under great strain.

"Dad—" Hermione started, but she was interrupted.

"It's simple not safe!" he burst out, but returned to partially maintained civility. "And we're considering sending her to university, in the M-Muggle world. Perhaps pre-dentistry, carry on the family business." He winked at Hermione who only gave him a cool glare in return.

"Ambrose," his wife whispered angrily to him.

"She'd make a good dentist, don't you think?" he asked George casually.

"What's a dentist?"

Mr. Granger's face fell.

"I'm not going to be a dentist," Hermione muttered quietly, half wanting her parents to hear and half wishing they didn't. "And I'm not going to University."

"You'll change your mind," he replied under his breath, taking a forceful bite of mashed potatoes.

"No, Dad, I won't," she grumbled back, stabbing her green beans.

"_Yes_, you will—"

"Molly, these really are excellent potatoes," Mrs. Granger said shrilly, trying to smile.

"I'm an adult, in two worlds," Hermione argued under her breath, cutting her pot roast with a little extra force.

"Hardly."

"I can make my own decisions!"

"I will _not_ pay for you to turn your magic on us!" he yelled, startling all around the table.

"I wouldn't _have to_ if you weren't so _impossible!_"

She let out a strangled yell of frustration, shoved back from the table, and stormed out of the kitchen. The sound of a couple scraping chairs reached her ears, but she did not turn to see who was following. Angry tears began to form, hot and stinging, but she refused to let them fall, due to a passive-aggressive need to prove he hadn't gotten to her. It was not often she fought with her parents. To feel their anger bearing down on her for over a week was unbearable and far from anything she was used to.

She stopped at the garden fence and kicked a wooden post, too angry to care about the sharp throbbing in her toe afterward. She stood there for several long moments, crossly sniffing back the tears. Footprints approached behind her and when they did not stop, Hermione buried her face in her hands and choking out a sob with a yell, "Go _away_!"

The footsteps stopped and she turned around. Ron was standing there, treacle tart in his outstretched hand.

"I'm sorry about my Mum," he said, offering out the treat as some sort of penance. "I figured you wouldn't want to go back, so I brought dessert to you."

Hermione sniffed and sighed, taking it from his palm with a weak smile. "Thank you. I'm sorry about my Dad. I don't know what's gotten into him. When have I _ever _indicated I might possibly be interested in Muggle dentistry?"

Ron laughed faintly.

"It's too bad we can't switch parents. I'll take the one that doesn't want me to go to school, and you can take the one that does."

Hermione let out a sardonic chuckle. "Wouldn't that be lovely? I'd look up a spell, but imagine how infuriated he'd be if I used magic on him _again_." She let out an aggravated scoff and leaned into Ron, her head on his chest, hitting it gently, several times.

"Kick the post again if you're feeling violent," Ron said, holding her head in place, causing her to laugh at her own foolishness.

"I'm just so _angry_," she sighed, smiling, as the feelings of frustration slowly wore off.

"I'm just glad it's not me this time. Are you going to eat that?" He pointed at the tart in her hand.

"No," Hermione sighed and handed it back to him. "But thank you, very much…"

"No fanks needed," he replied, the dessert already shoved into his mouth.


	4. Parting Ways

Chapter Four: Parting Ways

Hermione hadn't been so terrified of the scarlet steam engine since her first year. The chatter was indistinguishable, pressing on her ears, and she felt a strong sense of unease as the crowds pushed in around her. With a deep breath, she turned to her mother. The words to speak would not form.

"Don't worry about your father," Mrs. Granger said kindly, brushing a strand of hair behind Hermione's hair. "He's just going to take awhile to come to terms with what's happened."

Hermione nodded, though her crossed arms betrayed her uncertainty. "What about owl post?" she asked, remembering a particular conversation she'd had with her father about whether owls were allowed anywhere near their house. He was not so wrapped up in this plot to make any serious efforts to stop Pig from reaching Hermione's window with letters from Ron, Harry, and Ginny, but Hermione could tell his patience was wearing very thin.

"I'll take care of it," she assured her.

"I wish you didn't have to. I thought he'd be okay by now," Hermione muttered.

Her mother did not reply for several moments. "He has a lot on his plate. It'll take awhile for him to process everything that's happened."

Hermione looked away, arms still folded. The wall between Platform 9 ¾ and the Muggle world was flashing in and out with every new family that entered. She somberly watched for a particular mop of red hair she knew would never come.

"You'll be alright, dear," her mother said softly, seeing where Hermione was looking and pulling her into a tight embrace. "If it's meant to be, the distance will only make you stronger."

Hermione laughed ruefully to herself. "Am I that obvious?"

"Only because I'm your mother."

They smiled at each other before breaking apart. Hermione threw a half glance at the portal again and felt her heart skip when she caught a glimpse of flaming red hair. But it was only Mrs. Weasley and Ginny who hurried over and her spirits dimmed slightly. She greeted Ginny with a smile anyway. The two mothers shared slightly uncomfortable glances, no doubt recalling their previous meeting at the Burrow and its awkward ending.

"Glad to see you here, Cecilia," Molly said brightly before turning hurriedly to Ginny. "Now you're sure you've got everything? All your robes, your books? If you forgot, just send one of the school owls and we'll get it up to you."

Ginny gave Hermione a look of defeat as her mother squeezed her tightly.

"Now don't think you have to be a hero or anything this year, Ginny dear, there's certainly no need. Please, just focus on your studies. One year. It'll do a wonder on my nerves."

"Yes, Mum," Ginny said, trying not to laugh.

Hermione grinned at her as her own mother gave her another quick hug and a kiss on the top of her head. Ginny smiled back and then jerked her head, eyebrows raised knowingly, looking pointedly over Hermione's shoulder.

"Hey," came a voice from right behind her.

Hermione spun around to see Ron standing there, hands behind his back, a smile pulling at the corner of his mouth, held back only because its propriety was uncertain.

"I'll see you at Christmas," her mother whispered with finality, smiling sweetly and backing away, giving Hermione's hand a final squeeze before turning and heading out the platform entrance.

"Umm, I-I wanted to see you off," Ron said quietly.

"We did," said Harry, catching up to them, lugging a massive, regal looking grey owl in its cage. He set the bird down and hugged Hermione before Ginny joined the reunion and the two of them began to talk.

"We were just in Diagon Alley," Ron said, rocking on the balls of his feet as Harry and Ginny walked away, giving both pairs some space. "And I got you…this."

His hands came from behind his back and he offered forth a beautiful large book, hardened leather cover, thick red ribbon precisely in the middle of the book, separating its gold-edged pages. The title was written in extravagant, gold-leafed scrawl.

"_A History of Magic: Special Edition in Memory of Bathilda Bagshot,"_ Ron said boldly. "I practically had to sell George my soul to get this for you. I'll be cleaning the toilets in the shop for weeks."

Hermione held it loosely in her hands, completely speechless. The shiny scarlet cover glinted as she turned it over, running her fingers along its decoratively engraved spine.

"I…I figured if you were busy reading that you wouldn't think too much about…about who was and wasn't there," Ron offered.

"I'll have it read within two weeks, you know that," Hermione chuckled, looking up at him as warm tears began to well in her eyes.

Ron did not reply, bending down to embrace her instead. She wrapped her arms tightly around his neck and breathed deeply, trying to hold onto the smell of his hair.

"I'm going to miss you so much…" she whispered.

"First Hogsmeade weekend, I promise."

"That's too far away."

Ron sighed into her shoulder and the tears she'd been building crept out.

"It has to be this way," Ron replied. "If you can't change it, there's no use worrying about it."

The steam engine blew its loud whistle, more harsh and uninviting than ever before. Ron pushed back slightly before a quick, emphatic, parting kiss, as if he were trying to say everything he'd forgotten in that one moment. The kiss ended abruptly and with a sheepish downward glance, he picked up Crookshanks cage and the handle of Hermione's trunk. Hermione turned to climb the steps and Ron handed off the items to her, gently brushing her hand as Crookshanks' cage passed between them. When the trunk was on the step beside her, he gripped her hand tightly. The train began to move and as it did so, their fingers slowly parted, though it felt to Hermione as if half her heart were being painfully ripped from her and left on the platform with him.

Hermione tried to ignore the aching in her chest as she bit her lip tightly and waved at Ron, and then Harry as he joined. She couldn't stay on the step for much longer as the train picked up speed, so she tore her eyes away from them and entered the carriage, just as the train turned the corner. Fighting back tears she pushed her way through the tight aisles, looking for a compartment where she could be alone. Ginny popped her head out of one and smiled faintly at Hermione.

Hermione hardly managed to return the gesture as she entered the compartment, deciding to find some alone time later. She set her gift from Ron on the seat across from Ginny and Crookshanks beside the large grey owl which let out a royally resentful hoot.

"From Harry?" Hermione asked in a cracked voice, nodding at the owl as she lifted her trunk overhead.

Ginny peered up at the owl and let out a small sound of affirmation. "Eros, after the winged Greek God of love." She laughed quietly to herself.

"How did you do it last year, Ginny?" Hermione asked after a small pause, her voice muffled as she tried to hold back the tears she knew were coming. She hoped she wouldn't have to explain what 'it' was, because she was not sure she could do it without becoming upset.

The girl looked into her lap, fidgeting. After awhile she said, "I kept busy, you know, fighting the way things were at Hogwarts. I knew I'd hear about it if anything had happened to Harry, so that kept me optimistic." She paused and shrugged, turning now to the window. "It was still hard at times, though."

Hermione did not respond, slumping into the seat and pulling the book towards her. It crackled as she opened it, the sound of a new book being read for the first time. With a gentle hand, she gripped its crisp pages and rifled through them, faster and faster until a small breeze kicked up the smell of a new book to her. She could always tell a good book by the way it smelled. The pages stopped moving and fell open at the crease in the center, the long red ribbon placed unassumingly in the center of the large volume, along with a cream, folded piece of parchment.

Her breath stopped in her throat as she stared down at the piece of paper. She was sorely tempted to open it, but restrained herself, knowing if she read it now she would surely succumb to tears. Instead she turned back to the first page and began to read. The urge to cry dried slowly as she forgot all around her but what was contained in the annotated biography of Bathilda Bagshot. Only when the door slid open did Hermione look up.

"Hi," Neville said shyly, stepping into the compartment and taking a seat beside Ginny, who was gazing out the window. "Have a good summer?"

"Decent. Are you going back to school, Neville?" Hermione asked curiously, closing the book and sitting up.

"Well, not exactly. Professor Sprout asked me back as her Herbology assistant. I'll be sort of like, like an apprentice or assistant professor or something."

"That's wonderful, Neville!" Hermione exclaimed, grinning. "You'll be brilliant."

He blushed slightly, the redness in his cheeks highlighting a few of the scars left on his face from the previous year. "Gran was really pleased when I told her."

They paused long enough to order a pile of sweets from the trolley as it passed, and as Neville munched on a licorice wand, he continued. "Luna is Head Girl, you know," he said. "And they made Zacharias Smith Head Boy."

"Coward," Ginny scoffed, still watching the countryside pass.

"Yeah, that's what I thought when I heard," Neville muttered, moving onto a box of chocolate frogs. "But they made Malfoy a Prefect, after all…Hermione, are you still a Prefect?"

Hermione shook her head. "But Professor Flitwick, the new Deputy Headmaster, told me in my Hogwarts letter I still get to use the nice bathrooms. And now that Ginny's Quidditch Captain, she can too." They grinned at each other, remembering a particularly exciting letter exchange that summer. Moments passed as they fell into a brief stretch of silence. "Did anybody else come back?" Hermione asked Neville finally.

He swallowed his chocolate, and said, "Dean did. Seamus went on to the Department of Magical Accidents and Catastrophes at the Ministry. They need a lot of extra hands to fix up all that's happened. Lavender ended up at the Ministry too, in the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures. And Parvati is doing sort of what I am, except in Divination for Trelawney. She's sitting in a compartment with Dean right now. I was just in talking with them."

Hermione felt a vague sense of contentment at hearing the news. It was satisfying to hear a sense of normalcy in what the others were up to, and also comforting to hear there were at least a couple others who'd remained at school.

"Where are Harry and Ron? Didn't they come back?" Neville inquired suddenly.

"Ron's working at his brother George's joke shop," Hermione said quietly, her voice cracking slightly. "And Harry is helping in the Auror department, getting it back on its feet."

"Oh," Neville said with sudden comprehension. Then with a bit of tenderness, he continued, "It must be hard for you. You three are never apart."

"It'll get better," Hermione replied with great effort, pulling the book back up to her face in attempt to end the conversation politely.

Neville nodded in understanding and turned to Ginny, engaging her in a conversation about his summer. Hermione continued to read as Ginny and Neville lapsed into silence, and they remained that way until it was time to change into their school robes. Darkness settled uneventfully as the train pulled up to Hogsmeade Station. Hermione did note, however, that the utter uneventfulness of the train ride to Hogwarts was an event in and of itself.

As they piled out with the other students, Hermione was greeted by Hagrid's familiar voice summoning the first years.

"Evenin', Hermione," Hagrid said, giving her a warm smile. "Glad to have you back. Can I expect you for tea this Friday?"

"Of course, Hagrid," Hermione replied, returning the smile.

"And o' course, Ginny and Neville'd be invited as well. Always up for comp'ny!"

"Thanks, Hagrid," Ginny said, coming up alongside Hermione, her new owl balanced carefully on her trunk.

"And who's this?"

"Eros," Ginny answered proudly. "Harry gave him to me. He's our owl."

"Ah, well, he's a real beaut, that one. Y'know, I was the one who got Hedwig for Harry. Shame she passed...But anyway, you two best get to the carriages. Firs' years, o'er here!" He waved his great arm over his head, lifting the lantern a little higher.

Hermione and Ginny continued on but as they neared the carriages, they stopped abruptly at the sight. Dean, Neville, Parvati, and Luna were all in a carriage together, the carriage itself attached to two enormous winged horses, black as the night sky, leathery skin drawn taut over their skeletons. Hermione's heart beat faster in her chest as she stared at the monsters she'd never before been able to see.

"Thestrals," Ginny said solemnly.

Hermione did not want to dwell on her new ability to see them. Images of Fred and Lupin and Tonks lying dead on the floor in the Great Hall began to swim in her mind and she forced them away, gripping more tightly to the book within her hand. She and Ginny clambered into the carriage.

"They're frightening, aren't they?" Parvati said somberly.

"They're actually quite gentle creatures," Luna interjected, staring with wide blue eyes at her, causing the girl to look awkwardly away. "Hermione, Ginny, Neville, and I flew on some once."

Parvati and Dean turned with amazement to them as the carriage began to move.

"I thought that was just a rumor," Dean exclaimed.

"Well, it wasn't…it wasn't so frightening then, because Ginny and I couldn't see them," Hermione offered. "Though, I guess…well, it was sort of frightening that we couldn't see them because we were flying on invisible things, and flying is terrifying in and of itself, so I suppose it was a bit frightening. But they aren't so bad, really... "

"Ginny, I heard you were made Quidditch Captain," Luna said in a low voice, entirely changing the subject to Hermione's relief. "That's really exciting. You get to use the nice bathrooms now, don't you? Father was very pleased when he heard I was Head Girl, though we were both surprised. I thought for sure it would be you or Hermione."

"Well we're glad it's you, Luna," Ginny replied. "You deserved it just as much as Hermione and I."

They continued in sporadic chatter until they reached the castle. Filing out of the carriages, they passed the winged horses with an impulsive shudders as the animals snorted and beat their hooves. The Entrance Hall was completely unrecognizable from the previous May, and made Hermione recall her original sense of awe upon entering the castle as a first year. The stone walls seemed brand new, the torches and portraits more cheerful than she remembered from the previous couple years. When they entered the Great Hall and sat down the utter splendor became all the more obvious. A perfectly clear night sky with a perfect full moon shone in its enchanted ceiling; hundreds of lit candles hovered above them; brilliant, ornate tablecloths covered the four house tables in their respective colors. Banners of purple and gold hung from the rafters and the house point hour-glasses glinted with new stained glass and polish. The floor-to-ceiling windows opened up to a beautiful view of the crisp summer night. Hogwarts Castle was determined to come back with more grandeur than ever before.

The staff table was filled with familiar faces and a few new ones. One was a very old woman with a beaked nose and spectacles that fell clear to the end of it. She had beady brown eyes and a haughty expression, but her facial expression was betrayed as she laughed at something Slughorn had just shared with her. There was also a middle-aged man with sharp cheekbones and a pointed chin, speaking with Professor Vector with a very serious look on his face. And finally a younger woman, cheerful as she chattered away with Professor Sinistra. Hermione began to ponder their job placements but was interrupted as the doors burst open and the first years waltzed in, Professor Flitwick in the lead.

Everyone hushed up as the children huddled in and the sorting hat was placed upon the stool. It sprung to life as Flitwick stepped away, squirming as its usual tear opened. After a single moment of trepidation, it began its annual tune.

_Nearly a millennia ago_

_Four founders made this school_

_They enchanted me to do their will_

_And each year I sit upon this stool_

_I'm meant to put you in the house_

_Where seven years you'll live_

_With your new family of sorts_

_About which I have these words to give_

_Gryffindor, where bravery is fierce_

_Ravenclaw, with wit enough to pierce_

_Slytherin, with sheer determination_

_Hufflepuff, loyalty owed admiration_

_But despite your house and your perceptions_

_Or whatever you may think_

_Your thoughts are likely misconceptions_

_Take note! Prepare your quill and ink_

_Hogwarts is more than brick and mortar_

_More than portraits, more than torches_

_These walls contain ardent supporters_

_Of justice and its noble forces_

_Though there is nothing that can teach_

_Such idealism of youth_

_These righteous goals remain in reach_

_With keen pursuit of truth_

_So though these houses separate_

_Do not let them isolate_

_For there are some things we all seek:_

_Equality to end the hate_

_Bravery to protect the meek_

_Ambition to help motivate_

_Intelligence with which to speak_

_And thus the world the child sees_

_Becomes the world all magic needs_

_A world of peace and happiness_

_Where origin of blood means little_

_And relationships are never fickle_

_Where houses are always but a label_

_And every student is forever capable_

_Of demonstrating courage, kindness_

_Ambition, wit, and open-mind'ness_

_So while at school remember this_

_To avoid another wizard gone amiss_

_Keep in mind the foremost goal_

_Hogwarts is only but a whole_

_Of all its little parts._

The hat stopped. A heavy silence hung in the air afterward, the hall thick with the poignant moment. Flitwick's small voice pierced the silence after several minutes had passed.

"Let the sorting begin!"

Hermione turned to Neville and Ginny and whispered, "Came up with a bit of a different message this year, didn't he?"

"Anders, Natalie!"

A short little girl with a heart-shaped face tripped over her robes, stumbling up to the stool. The hat fell clear over her head of dark brown hair and declared the girl a Ravenclaw almost immediately.

They watched as an entire new generation of students was sorted. A Shannon Bergman, April DaWalt, and Jacqueline Harrison became the first three Hufflepuffs. Andrew Keegan and Therese Young were welcomed by thunderous applause as they was sorted into Gryffindor. Maria Flurry became the second Ravenclaw, followed by an Elizabeth Keller, Katherine Haider, and Steven Dyreson. Rachel Biancofiore was the first Slytherin sorted and then Alex Lien and Theodore Bartley.

Hermione was not paying much attention. She felt disconnected from this new group of students. They had little idea of what had happened at the school they year before, and she knew they would be attending a very different Hogwarts than the one she had. Aside from that, they seemed much more like children than the years before. It was difficult to imagine she was ever so small.

Her thoughts disappeared, however, when Professor McGonagall stood up to speak.

"Good evening, and welcome to your next year at Hogwarts. It is my honor to serve as your new Headmistress. As I'm sure many of you are aware, it is a wonder this castle is still standing. So before we begin, I would like to give a special award of recognition to those responsible for this school's continued existence. I'm pleased to present the following awards for Special Services to the School to Miss Hermione Granger, Miss Ginny Weasley, Miss Luna Lovegood, and Mr. Neville Longbottom for, as the sorting hat so eloquently stated, their keen pursuit of truth and justice. Please stand."

Hermione's stomach fluttered violently as she, Ginny, and Neville all stood. The hall was bursting with applause around her and the others as they waved at Luna. The girl didn't seem terribly troubled by the attention, gazing placidly instead at the stars dancing across the ceiling.

"Also, the same award to a Mr. Harry Potter and Mr. Ronald Weasley, who did not return to school in order to pursue their various talents in getting caught up in trouble—namely, the Auror department of the Ministry of Magic and a joke shop."

The students laughed lightly and applauded all the same, Hermione and the rest passionately joining in as they took their seats.

"Today I'd also like to introduce you to three new professors. Professor Goshawk, though most of you will know her as the author of the Standard Book of Spells."

The woman with the beady eyes and the beaked nose stood, nodding politely at the crowd as they clapped.

"She will be taking over my position as Transfiguration professor, graciously returning from her retirement. Thank you, Miranda. Second, we have Professor Gwendolyn Harris, taking over the post as Muggle Studies professor."

Applause was awarded to her as well as the woman stood, beamed broadly, waved, and sat again, tucking her long golden hair behind her back.

"And third, Professor Gawain Robards. He was head of the Auror department before things took a turn for the worse. But he's now back and ready to take over as Defense Against the Dark Arts professor. Thank you, Gawain."

The man with the sharp cheekbones stood and peered sternly out at the students.

"We look forward to an indubitably un-thrilling year back," Professor McGonagall said with a sheepish grin, to which all except the first years laughed appreciatively. "There is not much more that I can say," continued the old woman, "that the Sorting Hat has not already said. Except, let the feast begin."

\\*//

Hermione lay silently in her bed, as the clock neared midnight, her wand lit. She flipped slowly through the pages of her new book, letting herself feel the paper as it passed through her fingertips. It fell open again to the center ribbon and the crisp piece of parchment she'd nearly forgotten.

She checked over her shoulder to make sure the other girls were sleeping and when she saw they were indeed fast asleep, Hermione lifted the note from her book and opened it tentatively, unsure what she would find written within…


End file.
